On July 2, 2010, Louisiana Governor Bobby Jindal signed into law a bill that reduced the act of soliciting a “crime against nature” for compensation from a felony to a misdemeanor. A felony conviction had meant a fine of up to $2,000, imprisonment for up to five years (“with or without hard labor”), or both. Because of the change in the crime's classification to a misdemeanor, those convicted of a first offense now face lesser penalties: a fine of up to $500, six months in jail, or both. Thus, the penalty for a first conviction for solicitation of “unnatural carnal copulation by a human being with another of the same sex or opposite sex or with an animal” for pay is the same as the penalty for a first conviction for prostitution not deemed “unnatural.” (Regular prostitution is defined in the Louisiana criminal code as “indiscriminate sexual intercourse with others for compensation.”) Another reform: Before this bill was enacted, anyone convicted of soliciting “unnatural carnal copulation” for compensation was required to register as a sex offender. Now, one is not deemed a sex offender until a second conviction.

An implicit understanding, seldom bluntly articulated, has come apart. The federated sovereign states, nearly four centuries in building since the first European colonizations, are grappling with a dilemma not only in institutional processes and structures but also about consensus on dominant ideology.

Nothing illustrates the strange unraveling of federalism's implicit and pragmatically informal truce better than the present Great Textbook Controversy. In essence, it is a new states' rights fuss about super states versus small states versus a national insistence on uniform high standards in public education.

Public educational institutions have long represented the American Dream to our nation of newcomers and ever-mobile population. The First Amendment's No Establishment “Wall” meant that parents of diverse value systems could build a new community consensus around common needs at the school. By mid-twentieth century the U.S. high school had become the most important rite of passage into full U.S. citizenship and adulthood. No wonder, then, that each “blow” to the most cherished and legitimizing institution of individual communities has aroused such emotion. The local high school was the way into the great continental economy and culture.

Campaigning in the final days before Oregon's special Senate election in January 1996, Democratic nominee Rep. Ron Wyden was introduced at each event with a song written in 1944 and recorded by Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters: “Ac-cent-tchu-ate the positive … E-lim-in-ate the negative…”

The sudden enthusiasm with which Wyden embraced his new theme song struck more than a few Oregonians as ironic. Wyden had adopted his positive campaign posture after reading polls that showed a plurality of voters more concerned about the negative tone of the campaign than about any other issue. That negative tone had largely been established by Wyden himself (Wells 1996).

The Wyden campaign—both on the attack and on the defensive, in repentance and in victory—offers a microcosm for the state of campaigning for Congress in the mid-1990s.

Wyden, an eighth-term member from Portland, won his Senate nomination in November over another House Democrat from a more rural district who was unable to raise comparable amounts of cash. His Republican rival, state Senate President Gordon Smith, had made himself wealthy in food-packaging and won the nomination by heavily outspending two statewide officeholders (Gruenwald 1995).

From its very beginnings political science has been a complex discipline torn in conflicting directions. Consider Aristotle's Politics, the first book that looks like a contemporary political science monograph. In the book, Aristotle presented two opposing strands of argument that he managed with tolerable success to hold together. On the one hand, Aristotle treated the study of politics as a branch of practical knowledge, its aim being action (praxis), not theory. Political action is always contextual or circumstantial, the action of particular agents faced with a particular set of circumstances. Therefore, the student of politics needs to be concerned above all with learning the art of political judgment, with how to think and deliberate well under specific circumstances. Aristotle wrote the Politics for men situated in popular assemblies, courts of law, and councils of war. He presented politics as inseparable from rhetoric, the art of public persuasion. Aristotle believed that the perspective of the political theorist should not depart too far from that of the citizen or statesman.

Yet, at the same time, Aristotle acknowledged that politics is a form of knowledge with its own distinctive subject matter and set of truth claims. Good student of Plato's that he was, Aristotle saw himself as turning the study of politics into a science (episteme) inasmuch as it constituted the search for a comprehensive or general explanation of some particular branch of knowledge.

Well, let us admit, we all suffer from at least a mild case of “social sciences inferiority complex.” So it seems does Kim Quaile Hill in his spirited defense of the “less exact” part of academe. He finds his students' skepticism about (maybe even disdain for) political science troubling and frustrating. He is unhappy with students questioning the validity and certainty of social sciences. He fights back. However, his solution to the problem is not only ill-conceived, but it has the potential of harming his (our?) own cause. Instead of dealing with students' skepticism of the scientific character of social sciences, he blames that skepticism on students' misperceptions and misconceptions about physical sciences. Still, initially his argument sounds convincing when the misconceptions are framed in terms of scientific illiteracy, pseudo-science, and superstition. The first impression is—of course, how one can appreciate social sciences without a good understanding of science in the more traditional hard-sciences sense. Yet, we quickly discover that is not the author's point. It is the opposite. It is not so much about distrusting physical sciences, but rather about trusting it too much. With so much faith in physical sciences, social sciences are perceived as soft, inaccurate, and uncertain.

In recent years, many political science articles have changed the traditional and correct method for flagging statistically significant coefficients in tables. They now add extra asterisks at each significance level. This article describes the shift and why it should be reversed.